Rostok Factory, some time later.
I passed through yet another hangar, with cracked tiles and grass beginning to grow, and stood opposite the passage to another part of the factory. The gates, broken in the future, now stood immovably in place, though slightly ajar, and there was no inscription above them, proclaiming "Wild Territory." I approached them, tried to open them wider, but the hinges were so rusted that the leaves wouldn't budge even a couple of centimeters.
"M-m," I cursed, pursing my lips and dropping my backpack from my back. "No, damn it, to pass through calmly, I have to contort myself now..."
Through the slightly open gap, I first pushed my backpack, pressing it tightly against the gate, and then squeezed through myself, slowly and carefully. With a little effort, I managed to get through. I threw my backpack back on, took my assault rifle in my hands, and surveyed the place I had entered. A long, one might even say, square, riddled with cracks and littered with debris. High fences and buildings with a small amount of greenery in front of them were visible on the right and left, and a covered two-story gallery ahead.
The wind gently ruffled my hair as I walked towards the brick passage to the next sector. The leaves on the local trees rustled, the tall grass swished, and somewhere nearby, I heard the sound of a jark activating. I entered the gallery, finding myself in a narrow but long corridor of red brick. At the end, behind a small wall protrusion, a staircase to the second floor was visible. Why not climb up there?
I carefully walked around the brick fragments scattered everywhere and climbed up the cold, almost burning, metal rungs. I climbed a small staircase of a couple of steps, emerging into another corridor. The floor was laid with dark boards, and the walls were an iron frame with sheets of slate screwed to it, some of which had long since fallen off and cracked.
A little further on, in another brick recess at the other end of the corridor, was someone's dusty cache. On the floor lay a couple of mattresses of not the best appearance, folded on top of each other, several small boxes filled with canned goods and plastic bottles of water, and even a backpack, and in the middle of it all – a piece of a barrel with embers from a campfire. I couldn't resist my curiosity and went to look at the contents of the bag. There, at the very bottom, lay a sawn-off double-barreled shotgun, a Makarov pistol, and a quantity of ammunition for them. Nothing valuable here, but if necessary, this place could save my life. I'll remember
it.
Descending back to the first floor, I almost stumbled upon a zombified stalker in a heavily torn jumpsuit, dragging his right leg, which was unnaturally bent at the knee. At first, he walked calmly, but as soon as I sighed loudly, the zombie slowly turned, raising his hand with a shortened Kalash gripped in his palm. What is he... And in the next moment, a series of shots, thundering through the corridor, knocked red dust from the bricks, and I had to jump aside, hiding behind the wall. What the hell!? System, I have an ability, what about mutants...
Zombified stalkers are neither mutants nor other offspring of the Zone, dear user. And your ability does not apply to them.
Be careful!
"M-mother!" I exclaimed loudly, drawing my pistol from its holster and, mentally calculating where the zombie's head should be, instantly popped out from around the corner and fired twice, after which my unexpected opponent fell backward until he hit the ground. "Damn it..."
I exhaled noisily under the dawning realization that I couldn't afford to relax under any circumstances. Nearby are the Yantar, psi-installations, and other junk, which means there could be plenty of such zombified stalkers here. And while I could bypass ordinary mutants without problems, some "hidden" in the shadows zombified stalker would instantly pepper me with a burst from an assault rifle.
A few seconds later, I was already on my knees before the dead man, rummaging through his pockets. I found a couple of magazines for his shortened rifle, which immediately went into my backpack, as did a small scattering of rounds for a Kalash and a Makarov in his duffel bag. I wanted to go light, damn it... By the way, I didn't find the pistol itself on the stalker, nor anything else more valuable. The PDA was hopelessly broken, and the Soviet rubles that were lying around in his breast pocket were covered in dirt and torn.
After dealing with the corpse, I cautiously peeked out from behind the wall, and rightly so – approaching, near an overturned ZIL hulk, were two more zombies. Emotionless faces with open mouths and drool dripping down their chins, completely glassy eyes, and jerky movements. A terrible sight, really. I raised my pistol, stepped out from around the corner, and dealt with them before they could do anything.
I quickly searched them, but soon realized that I couldn't even take any ammunition from them – they were armed only with pistols, and not even of my caliber. Too bad, too bad. I got up from my knees, pressed myself against the brick fence, and peered out at the main part of the Wild Territory. Trash, scrap metal, abandoned cars, and a very tall tower behind which railway tracks were hidden. On the left side was a long garage, and a little further on, a hangar. So, and I need to somehow turn right, cross the tracks and...
At that moment, in the alcove between the garage and the hangar, shooting erupted, followed by a loud whine, and a wounded pseudo-dog with blood-soaked fur ran out from around the corner into the open space. The dog tried to escape and hide, but soon the last bullet, piercing its skull, caught up with it. A few moments passed, and then a Longevity soldier with a blue thermobox on his side emerged. Fully clad in a black-red jumpsuit, with a gas mask on his head, he reached the mutant's body in a few wide strides and, with one movement, cut off its fluffy tail, immediately sending it into a container.
"I'm finished, Comrade Captain!" he reported loudly, turning on his heel.
"Well done, Ivantsov!" With these words, the rest of the squad emerged from around the corner. There were four of them in total, including the one who cut off the tail. And the captain turned out to be a tall fellow in a heavy suit with a Groza in his hands. "But be vigilant and don't scatter, shooting was heard not far from here."
Hmm, damn it! In this situation, it's better to reveal myself and explain, because if they suddenly decide to investigate what they heard, I'll have to lie low for a long time, without attracting attention. And to go searching at night... In short, I put my pistol back in its holster and made myself known.
"It was me who was shooting!" I shouted so they could definitely hear, and slowly emerged from behind the red wall. "I'm neutral! My name is Executioner!"
"A loner?" the main Longevity soldier said thoughtfully, aiming his assault rifle at me. "What are you doing here, neutral?"
"Just came here for artifacts," I shrugged and lied outright. Although, it seemed, I would have to find an artifact or two. For the sake of secrecy. "They say the places here are untrodden, lots of loot. So I decided to try my luck..."
"M-m," he drawled. "Alright, damn it. Do what you want, just don't interfere. If you put my men in danger from mutants, I'll strangle you with my own hands."
On this beautiful note, the Longevity soldiers turned and left the way they came. I stood and watched their backs with a long gaze until the Longevity squad completely disappeared around another bend. It was good that this situation was resolved so quickly and peacefully. Having received "permission" to be here, I've at least somewhat secured myself from a sudden shot in the back. However, I can't relax, who knows what he might think of later.
I was about to continue my journey when I suddenly heard the quick sound of footsteps, and one of their squad ran out from around the bend where the Longevity soldiers had disappeared and headed towards me. It was that same Ivantsov. Medium height, with a Saiga slung over his shoulder and in a light jumpsuit. He stopped when he was a few meters away from me and said, out of breath:
"Wait, stalker, ha-a," he exhaled, reaching into his breast pocket. "I have a map here with marked mutant lairs that we didn't manage to deal with. Here, take a look."
And indeed, in his outstretched palm was a satellite map of the Wild Territory, with various points marked in red marker. Some of them were crossed out with black.
"Where it's red, there are mutants; where there's a black cross, they're gone," he explained willingly, pointing with his finger at different points. "Here we spotted a bloodsucker, here a litter of snorks, and here even a chimera. So be careful here and don't rush into danger."
"I'm pleasantly surprised," I replied, looking at the map. "I didn't think anyone from your group would care so much about a simple stalker."
"Ha-ha!" Ivantsov laughed heartily, smiling broadly. "Don't get me wrong, but Captain Samoylov himself ordered me to show you this map. He's a serious man, but a good one. In short, if you don't cause any trouble, we've set up camp right here, behind the construction site. Come trade if you need anything. Ammunition, food, water – we'll exchange it all for currency."
"I'll keep that in mind, give my thanks to the captain," I said, and pulled a couple of thousand Soviet rubles, folded into a pack, from my jumpsuit pocket.
"O-oh, our kind of person," the Longevity soldier said, clapping me on the shoulder with satisfaction. "Well, see you. Good luck with your artifact hunt, stalker."
"And good luck to you too," I said goodbye. It was a shame to part with the money, of course, but it would help establish good relations with this squad. Maybe they'll be useful to me for something.
I turned to face the tall tower, climbed onto a meter-high ledge, crossed the rectangular asphalt area, and descended on the other side, exiting directly to the tracks through a large crack in the fence leaning towards the ground. Everywhere, between the tracks, various anomalies were scattered – from jarks, in one of which a jerboa was roasted, to electr's, which sometimes activated with a loud flash of sparks. There I walked several dozen meters forward through tall weeds, long unpulled by anyone, until I stood before a railway crossing.
I noticed a few blind dogs under one of the trains, huddled helplessly together from the terrible misfortune of a Longevity squad. Alas, little animals, but you'd better run from here, not hide. With a loud whine, I crossed the tracks, and it was not far to the coveted gates leading to another part of the Rostok factory. They were located a little to the side of a tall, long rectangular building from which many old yellow pipes branched out. Some kind of boiler room, or something like that.
The gates, to my great fortune, were open, and I didn't have to fiddle with the lock. I simply walked through them and closed them behind me, making a long, ear-scraping sound of ungreased metal. Meanwhile, a wide, about five-meter road stretched out before me, on which several large trucks could easily fit at once. On the roadside, behind a gray curb, several tall fir trees of a rich dark green color were spread out.
Immediately at the entrance to this part of the factory, on the left, was a one-story house with a flat roof and a small grid of small windows just under the ceiling. The door leading inside was tightly closed, and the handle was broken off at the very root. Opposite it was a huge three-story factory building with large, human-sized, murky windows. As far as I remembered from the plan, there were some workshops here. However, my path lay precisely through this building – someone's genius decided it would be a great idea to make a passage through the building.
I walked straight along the road, noting that it was quite clean here, despite everything. Although there were overgrown tall grass and other weeds everywhere, and the asphalt was cracked in places and still littered with paper, it wasn't as dirty as on the Agroprom. Whatever you say, people tend to litter their living spaces.
When I reached the coveted passage further on, I stumbled upon two stalkers, engrossed in digging into the engine of a ZIL that had stopped a dozen meters from the workshops. The men, having placed
their weapons on the ground, didn't even notice my arrival. Intrigued, I approached. They were dressed in ordinary Zarya-type jumpsuits, and in general, it gave the impression that they were ordinary stalkers.
"Hey, guys, what are you up to?" I asked, deliberately stomping my boots on the asphalt.
"Oof!" one of them jumped up and hit his head on the car hood, falling backward, rubbing his bruised forehead. The second stalker, calmer, stepped back a few steps, warily reaching for the pistol in his holster, but not in a hurry to draw it. "What's it to you? What are you even doing here?"
"Just walking around," I shrugged. "Looking for something interesting. My name is Executioner, by the way."
"Executioner?" his partner said, lowering his hand from the pistol grip. "I've heard of that stalker. They say he's a good guy from the Valerianovska group. They say you recently repelled bandits from the Dump?"
"It happened," I nodded readily. "Those we didn't kill, we definitely scattered."
"From Valerianovska," the first one said thoughtfully, scratching his curly beard on his face with his fingernails. "You've come a long way, kid. I'm Chisel, and this is..."
"My name is Screw," introduced the second stalker with a gauze mask on his face. "You asked what we're doing here, right? We're tinkering here a bit, looking for a usable vehicle to repair and not have to walk on our own two feet through the Zone."
"Oh, that's a good idea," I nodded. "And how's it going?"
"Ah-h," Chisel waved his hand, then began wiping his hands on his gray jumpsuit. "Junk, just junk all around. As if someone cursed us. We thought this ZIL would be normal – look how well it's preserved, you wouldn't say it stood under the open sky for twenty years, but still, the repair will be too complicated."
"Well, I can only wish you luck," I said, preparing to leave.
"Wait, Executioner!" Screw said loudly, coming up close to me. "Listen, you didn't come here just like that, did you? You're looking for something in the factory itself... I can tell you something important, not for free."
"Oh yeah?" I raised my right eyebrow. "And what do you want from me?"
"Purely symbolic," the stalker continues. "A couple of thousand. In reality, we really lost money on this car idea. We don't look for artifacts, we try to avoid mutants, and our supplies are running out. We eat sparingly as it is, and tomorrow or the day after, we'll have to eat our last meal, ahem, without salt."
"Screw!" Zubilo, turning red, addresses him, clenching his fists. "You..."
"Stop being so stubborn and cowardly," his partner hisses loudly at him. "They won't do anything to us, especially since we need to go back, and we have no supplies for the road. And we have nowhere to get them without money. This way, at least we can buy some grub from the debt collectors."
"Alright," the mechanic stalker grumbles, slightly ashamed, picking up his assault rifle from the ground. "Let's go, let's at least step aside. I don't feel comfortable talking about such things here..."
We then move a few dozen meters aside, behind that very same closed single-story building, and hide among the bushes that have grown under the windows, shielding ourselves from prying eyes. Shurup falls to the ground with relief, stretching his legs, while his partner constantly glances around, keeping his assault rifle at the ready. Strange, they were so calm and relaxed just a moment ago, and now...
"So, will you pay us?" the stalker asks, looking up at me.
"If the information is worth it," I reply. If it's something really valuable, then I can pay more than two thousand, that would be more appropriate.
"Oh-oh, don't worry about that," Shurup says. "And I believe you won't cheat us. You don't look like that kind of person... Anyway, listen. We've been here for about a week and a half, walking around the area and looking for cars. You've heard that already. Well, not long ago, we had the misfortune of encountering a squad of mercenaries.
"I'll bet my life it was them," Zubilo interjects, turning his head towards us. "NATO guns, blue jumpsuits... Just awful. They moved like robots. Without a sound or unnecessary movement, they almost caught us. But I think they noticed..."
"I think so too. Such professionals couldn't have missed such an obvious hiding spot," Shurup grimly agrees. "But they decided not to dirty their hands on us, since we don't interfere in their business. So... That evening, we were hiding from mutants in a stash, and those mercenaries just happened to pass by. They quickly dealt with the local creatures and moved on, right into that part of the factory where you were heading. And they haven't returned since."
"I sometimes notice blue jumpsuits in the distance," says the stalker with a curly beard. "But I immediately look away, pretending I didn't see anything. Maybe that's why we're still alive. They think we didn't notice a damn thing. Or they just don't want to make a fuss..."
"Yeah, yeah," his partner nods. "We're not going into the factory ourselves, even though we'd like to. But our own skin is more valuable than rusty iron. So, was it worth it?"
"So, here's the deal," I summarize, reaching into my pocket for money. "Here's three, no, four thousand. You'll go to the debt collectors right now, buy provisions, and get out of here in all directions, and far away. Understood?"
"B-but..." Zubilo tries to object, but I immediately cut him off.
"Take the money and leave, there's nothing for you to catch here," I shove the bills into Shurup's chest pocket. "I have a rough idea of what the mercenaries came here for, and this thing won't bring you any good. And if you don't want to wake up with your throats cut in the morning, you'll listen to me. I'm not kidding."